[5 Prompts][25 Fluffy Fics][Hetalia] "Last Lullaby"
Title: "Last Lullaby"
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Pairing: France/Jeanne D'Arc
Prompt: If I were... challenge, If I was in pain you'd sing me soothing songs. @ 5_prompts, 12. Hurt @ 25FluffyFics
Words: 570
Rating: PG
A/N: I have never written this pairing or these characters before. Just thought I'd try them out.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
He had never felt guilt like this before, even in his centuries of existence. He felt guilty for loving her. He felt guilty for seeing her as the only way. He felt guilty that, ultimately, a young woman would die today because of him. For him. For France. One of the greatest he had ever had was going to burn at the stake for crimes she did not commit, she was Jeanne D’Arc, also known as Joan of Arc.
He had thought about not going to see her, his king had begged him not to take the risk. “Would you really want to give England the satisfaction of burning you too?” the king had asked. In the end, the warnings had fallen on deaf ears. He had to see her one final time. He needed to apologize, to soothe her fears in her final hours. There was no way to free her, and he needed to tell her how much she meant to him.
He had snuck north in secret, dressing in the dowdy clothes of an Englishman in order to get there undetected. The guard had been easy enough to sway. The poor man was probably planning on how he would spend the gold as he let the cloaked visitor into the prisoner’s tower. The personification of France slipped into the room, hood still pulled up to conceal his face. She was kneeling in the light of a single candle. Hands held together in prayer.
France watched her, taking in the image of her prisoner’s guard and her position. In the combination of candle and moon she seemed already dead, a specter that was already haunting him with the knowledge of her sacrifice.
“If you think to have your way with me sire, you will find it will be no easy task and you are unlikely to succeed.” she whispered into the darkness.
His heart broke, “Have they tried that?”
She jumped slightly, her whole body shaking in surprise.
“France?”
“It’s me.” She turned to face him now, wide eyed, tears clinging to her eyelashes. He removed his hood and rushed to her gathering her small frame up in his arms. They held each other in silence, a nation and his hero. He felt the tears stream down his face and soak into the rough fabric stretched across her shoulder. She combed her fingers through his hair like a mother comforting a child. Her own tears moistened the silky, blonde strands of his head. At one point she began to hum. The sound vibrated through his body where his forehead rested against her throat. It was the tune of a French lullaby. He listened in silence, words trying to come out, but finding himself unable to say anything. Instead, he tried to express his feeling through gentle touches as she continued to sing.
As the song ended she said, “It will be okay my love. You must continue to fight on, do not let them win. I will be fine, I will be with my creator soon. Know that I have done everything I could for you. For France.”
She began to hum a different song, and he wept anew pulling her even tighter to him. Right before the changing of the guard they were forced to bid each other farewell, or risk him being caught. The farewell was silent, spoken in one last touch and one last look.
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Pairing: France/Jeanne D'Arc
Prompt: If I were... challenge, If I was in pain you'd sing me soothing songs. @ 5_prompts, 12. Hurt @ 25FluffyFics
Words: 570
Rating: PG
A/N: I have never written this pairing or these characters before. Just thought I'd try them out.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
He had never felt guilt like this before, even in his centuries of existence. He felt guilty for loving her. He felt guilty for seeing her as the only way. He felt guilty that, ultimately, a young woman would die today because of him. For him. For France. One of the greatest he had ever had was going to burn at the stake for crimes she did not commit, she was Jeanne D’Arc, also known as Joan of Arc.
He had thought about not going to see her, his king had begged him not to take the risk. “Would you really want to give England the satisfaction of burning you too?” the king had asked. In the end, the warnings had fallen on deaf ears. He had to see her one final time. He needed to apologize, to soothe her fears in her final hours. There was no way to free her, and he needed to tell her how much she meant to him.
He had snuck north in secret, dressing in the dowdy clothes of an Englishman in order to get there undetected. The guard had been easy enough to sway. The poor man was probably planning on how he would spend the gold as he let the cloaked visitor into the prisoner’s tower. The personification of France slipped into the room, hood still pulled up to conceal his face. She was kneeling in the light of a single candle. Hands held together in prayer.
France watched her, taking in the image of her prisoner’s guard and her position. In the combination of candle and moon she seemed already dead, a specter that was already haunting him with the knowledge of her sacrifice.
“If you think to have your way with me sire, you will find it will be no easy task and you are unlikely to succeed.” she whispered into the darkness.
His heart broke, “Have they tried that?”
She jumped slightly, her whole body shaking in surprise.
“France?”
“It’s me.” She turned to face him now, wide eyed, tears clinging to her eyelashes. He removed his hood and rushed to her gathering her small frame up in his arms. They held each other in silence, a nation and his hero. He felt the tears stream down his face and soak into the rough fabric stretched across her shoulder. She combed her fingers through his hair like a mother comforting a child. Her own tears moistened the silky, blonde strands of his head. At one point she began to hum. The sound vibrated through his body where his forehead rested against her throat. It was the tune of a French lullaby. He listened in silence, words trying to come out, but finding himself unable to say anything. Instead, he tried to express his feeling through gentle touches as she continued to sing.
As the song ended she said, “It will be okay my love. You must continue to fight on, do not let them win. I will be fine, I will be with my creator soon. Know that I have done everything I could for you. For France.”
She began to hum a different song, and he wept anew pulling her even tighter to him. Right before the changing of the guard they were forced to bid each other farewell, or risk him being caught. The farewell was silent, spoken in one last touch and one last look.